


A Quiet Cottage

by neckbows



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fantasy, Fluff, M/M, Relaxing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neckbows/pseuds/neckbows
Summary: Arthur knows that a storm can bring many things. A new companion, however, is not one of those things he has come to expect. Finding Alfred sleeping in the roots of a tree, Arthur rescues him and brings him home, only to learn that the young man's memory has completely abandoned him. Allowing him to stay until his mind returns, Arthur discovers that the company of another just as alone as himself has the potential to spark feelings in him he never knew he could have.A slow-burning, relaxing read about a lonely herbalist, a lost knight, magic, fairies, and nature. While action and mystery are present, they are not the focus. Come along to a cottage in the middle of the woods and experience life at a slower pace.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	1. Prologue

The storm raged. Alfred had never before understood what that kind of phrasing was meant to imply. How could a storm rage? How could a weather condition be angry? But now he wondered no more. All around him, the rain pelted the earth, hard as pebbles and cold as ice. The wind screamed through the trees like the guttural cries of monsters from the fairy tales. The cold bit into his flesh, worming its way between the plates of his armor and coming to rest in his very bones. There was no doubt about it; the storm raged with a fury that he had never experienced before.

His horse thundered forward blindly, tossing its head and letting out heavy grunts of exertion and fear mixing together. The night was totally black, and too often for comfort, a tree branch whipped out of the darkness and threatened to unseat Alfred from his speeding mount. He longed for the sturdy walls and warm fires of his home. If there had been a star visible in the sky, he was sure he'd be able to find his way back without issue. But the clouds and the rain turned the sky into a forever expanding void of inky darkness. With trepidation, he continued to urge his horse onward at dangerous speeds. Surely, he was the only being who would dare brave the woods in a torrent like this. These woods would be practically empty. But every which way his horse turned, he couldn't put to rest the feeling that there was something out here watching him.

A bone-shaking explosion heralded the sudden banishment of the darkness. A bolt of lightning struck a tree only a few feet before him and flooded the area with a harsh white light. His horse screamed and reared up, forelegs kicking at the air in alarm. Alfred, blinded, fumbled for the rain-slicked reigns but found no purchase. His heavy armor dragged him out of the saddle, and he tumbled downward. He landed on his back, and all the air went out of him. Seeming to care nothing for its former rider, his horse bolted away into the black forest, and its hoofbeats were quickly lost in the storm's deafening soundscape.

Alfred let out a strangled cry of pain. His arm had twisted awkwardly when he fell, and he had landed right on it. The crack he had felt drove all the cold from him, leaving only the burning pain of a freshly broken limb. He stared up at the sky. His breathing came in short, shaking gasps. Tears mingled with the rain on his face and steamed in the bitter cold. Somewhere in his pain-fogged mind, he knew he had to get up. He had heard stories of knights who fell from their horses into puddles and had drowned because they couldn't find the strength to stand. He would die if he continued to lay there. But a hollow feeling in his gut was asking him if there was even a point. He was alone with no horse and no idea which way was which. Even if he stood up and wandered on foot, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't become even more lost. Was there even a chance he would see home again? His shattered arm would heal twisted and deformed as he walked endlessly, and he'd either starve or freeze out in this wilderness. Was it really worth the struggle?

His head fell to the side, and he stared through his foggy spectacles at the shadowy trees that surrounded him. Hopelessness threatened to take him. The pouring rain drummed in rhythmic patterns that were quickly becoming nothing but droning background noise, occasionally punctuated by bursts of light and the crashing of thunder. He didn't know how long he laid there. It felt like a long time.

And then there was light. Not the harsh momentary flash of lightning, but a soft, ever-present ball of it, glowing in the distance. Was it a lantern? Was there someone out in these woods after all? The sight of that soft glow was enough to temporarily cease the growth of despair inside of him.

"HEY," He shouted, hoping that whoever was carrying that light would hear him. "HEY! IS SOMEONE THERE?" He stared at the lantern light and it seemed to draw closer to him. And there was more than one! He counted three orbs of warmly glowing lights, though he could not see who it was who carried them. With tremendous effort, he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his good elbow and bringing the broken arm tight to his chest. He bit his lip to muffle his cries of pain. He bit down so hard that his teeth broke the soft skin inside his mouth and the metallic taste of blood began coating his tongue. He tried calling out again. "OVER HERE! DO YOU KNOW HOW TO GET BACK TO THE CITY?" No voices answered him. The lantern light that had been drawing nearer stopped. They seemed to sway in place as if thinking. Then the light began to grow distant again. Alfred's heart dropped. They were leaving him. Had they not heard him over the sound of rain and thunder? But then they drew closer again, and they swayed and then moved away again. This repeated a couple of times. In trying to rationalize this strange behavior, Alfred came to a conclusion. They wanted him to follow them.

It took him several long minutes to get to his feet, weighed down by his armor and the throbbing pain of his injury. Breathing was a chore, and he shivered so hard it made the metal plates of his armor rattle like wind chimes. But he stood and felt better almost the moment he did so. He was not going to die here. He just had to catch up to the people with the lanterns. He began walking, his eyes locked on the lights he was sure would save his life.

He walked for a time that felt like an eternity. The lights moved ahead of him, seeming to stay the same distance from him no matter how fast he went. They swayed and bobbed, leading him through the trees. Sometimes, the three lights multiplied to as many as ten. Other times he lost sight of the other lights and followed only a single one. And a couple of terrifying times, they seemed to disappear completely, leaving him alone in the dark and the cold, turning in place until he spotted them again. In desperation, he began to run, every step jolting his broken arm uncomfortably and every breath feeling like an arrow striking his chest. But finally, the lights seemed to be getting closer! He was catching them! He ran faster, urging his weary legs forward, heedless of the roots and underbrush that threatened to trip him. Closer! Closer! He was almost there! They were waiting for him now! He could see them floating stationary on the other side of a wide clearing! Forward he pushed! His ironclad boot fell into a ring of colorful mushrooms he had failed to notice in the dark...

And then he was falling. He could feel wet grass against his cheek, but strangely nothing else. Not the ache in his lungs or the pain in his arm. Nothing but the sensation of the ground beneath his body. Somewhere, over the rain, he could hear giggling. Were there children here? He tried to look around, but he couldn't move a muscle. It was like his body was asleep while his mind remained aware. And that awareness was beginning to slip... 

The giggles grew louder and more numerous. 

Someone was dragging him.

His eyes closed.


	2. What the Storm Brings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are introduced to Arthur, a practitioner of magic. While out foraging, Arthur stumbles on something shocking.

There was little more powerful than the light of the sun after a storm. It pushed through the dew glazed windows and filled the small bedroom with warmth and energy. Arthur straightened the well-used quilt covering his bed, careful not to disturb the cat sleeping peacefully in a sunbeam. Once the bed was made, Arthur looked around his room. There was a chest at the foot of the bed that held his clothing. A handcrafted chair and table that held a washbasin full of clean water sat against the far wall and a washrag was hung over the chair's back to dry. There was the shelf that held several of Arthur's books and a wreath of blackberry brambles hung on his door. Everything was neat and tidy. Just how he liked it.

Arthur dressed and pulled on his well-worn boots. They were getting a bit thin, he noticed. He'd need to make a point of buying a new set the next time the traders rolled through the area. But all in good time. Today, he had things to do. A storm as fierce as the one that had taken place the night before was cleansing. It tamped down the dust, nourished the plants, and tore down the dead branches from trees. That meant that today would be the perfect day to cleanse his home, in much the same way nature had just cleansed herself.

Walking into the main room of his little home, Arthur's eyes were drawn to his wood-burning stove. During the night, the fire he had been using to warm his house had dwindled down to little more than embers and ash. The first step in starting his day was to reinvigorate the fire. He picked up a split log from the pile he kept in the corner and added it to the stove. Then he stepped back, extending his hand toward the open stove and... he stopped. He stared at the log, then slowly closed his fingers and shook his head, as if displacing an annoying insect. He stepped up to the stove again and spent several long minutes urging the fire back to life with quick puffs of air and bits of dried moss from his tinderbox, burning the tips of his fingers in the process. At long last, the stove came alive, and the log caught. After a quick breakfast of wheat porridge with berries he had harvested and dried himself, he lit a tight bundle of dried sage in the fire of the stove and wafted the smoke around the room, getting it into the corners and all the small spaces. It was essential to neutralize all the bad energy that built up over time if one wanted to remain physically and spiritually healthy, which Arthur did.

With the cleansing done, Arthur retrieved a pitcher of cream from the root cellar. He took out a small saucer and poured some of the cream into it. He added just a touch of honey and held it carefully as he clambered up onto his counter so he could see the tops of his cabinets. Up there was a saucer, much like the one he was balancing in his hand, only this one was empty. He placed the full dish on the top of the cabinet and retrieved the empty one so he could wash it. A gentle mew brought his attention to the floor. The cat had finally abandoned the cozy, sunlit bedspread and had come calling to his master.

"No, love, this isn't for you," he chided the animal as he carefully descended from his perch. "It's for the brownies. I know you think you're a clever cat for figuring out it's up there, but if you drink their offering you may wake up with your tail shaved. You don't want that, do you?" Arthur made it safely back down. The cat mewled again and wound around his legs affectionately. "Alright, alright. I suppose I have something for you, too." And Arthur shredded up what was left of the chicken he had had for dinner the night before and set it on the floor so his companion could have his breakfast.

He did a few more things around his home. He strung up some herbs he had harvested the day before and hung them from the rafters to dry, he checked that his garden was alright after the storm—it was, although the stone wall he had built around it to keep out the weeds had been tumbled in a spot. He would have to fix that later--and he made some tea with lavender to warm himself up. He was preparing to wash the threshold and windowsills of his home with an infusion of camomile for protection but realized his store of chamomile had entirely run dry. He was going to have to go out and forage for some more, it seemed. And so, Arthur threw his cloak around his shoulders, gathered his lunch into a basket, and stepped out the door, leaving it cracked just slightly so the cat could get out.

The path he took had once been a well-kept city road, but now the flagstones were cracked, and grass had long since pushed itself up between them. There weren't many people left around here to care about an old road. Arthur passed by a couple of other small homesteads on his way but did not stop to speak to their occupants. They would come to his cottage occasionally, looking for tinctures and tonics, potions and poultices, spells and sigils, whatever they needed to cure their ills. And Arthur would make them, and they would trade for his work with milk from their cows or eggs from their chickens, and then they would go their separate ways. Everyone got what they needed, and interaction was minimal. Just how Arthur liked it. He kept to himself, practiced his craft, and life was simple.

About fifteen minutes after passing the last home on the road, Arthur stepped off of the established path. Continuing on the road would take him to the ruins. Instead, he waded into the underbrush and began diving deeper into the woods. All around him, the trees grew taller and closer together. He reached out and let his fingers gently brush across the mossy bark of a tree. He breathed deep. The deep woods always brought him peace. He liked to think that he knew this forest and that it knew him. That, as long as he respected it, it would bring him all that he could ever need.

It didn't take him long to find the patch of wild chamomile growing on the edge of a clearing. He approached and knelt by the plants, his cloak fanning out around him, it's green-dyed homespun blending in almost perfectly with the emerald grasses of the forest floor.

"I would like to take some flowers," he said, speaking to the forest and the fae, "to use in my home. May I?" He waited a while and, when he felt no opposition, he began gently plucking the little white blooms and adding them to his basket.

As he worked, wondering if he should stop and gather some dandelions too, a sudden gust of wind made him look up. Up until this point, the air had been incredibly still, and he couldn't help but feel like the unexpected breeze was due to some fairy playfulness. It blew into the clearing, causing the dense foliage to flutter and dance, and give Arthur a peek into the clearing itself. He had never actually gone into the clearing before, knowing it was likely to be home to a fairy circle. But the sun glinting off of something shiny and reflective gave him pause. Arthur knew better than to mess with things he had no business messing with. But he couldn't fathom what could have caused a glint like that. It couldn't have been anything natural. A reflection off of water wouldn't appear up so high, and there wasn't much else in nature prone to throwing reflections. Curiosity getting the better of him, Arthur stood and slowly stepped toward the leafy veil that obscured the area.

Pushing his way into the clearing, Arthur's eyes widened in awe. An enormous tree sat at its center, branches spreading out parallel to the ground, twisting and intertwining with each other in hypnotic patterns. They reached to the very edges of the clearing and seemed to be trying to swallow up the other trees. Arthur followed the branches with his eyes, tracing them back to the tree's trunk, which seemed not to be a single tree but massive gnarled roots propping up the whole thing. He began circling the tree, examining it from other angles. He had seen a tree like this before. He believed it was in a book he had purchased from a traveling merchant some time ago. It looked to be a banyan tree, which Arthur found incredibly strange, given that banyans preferred warmer climates. Perhaps that was part of the reason it didn't seem to be doing so well. Even at this distance from it, Arthur could see large swaths of gray, sickly-looking bark that stood out like scars on the deep ash coloring of the tree. Some sort of fungal infection? Or maybe it had been poisoned by something. How had a tree like this come to be here in the first place? He continued to circle, going all the way around and coming back to where he had begun. The tree wasn't the only mystery of this place. Where had that flash come from? The one that had drawn him into this clearing in the first place. He paced back and forth for a while, moving slowly closer to the trunk of the tree. Then he saw it again! It had come from inside the roots! Inside the tree itself! He stared at the spot it had come from. And slowly, a sense of horror grew inside of him.

There was a face inside of the tree. A human face. He could only see a part of it from where he was, but it was, without a doubt, a face! Much of Arthur's previous caution was discarded as he rushed to the tree and peered in through the network of roots. There was a man inside the tree, either unconscious or dead, Arthur couldn't tell from here. He was sitting, propped up by the roots growing around his body, and through the gaps in the rust-covered iron armor he wore. The spectacles on his pale face were just clean enough to have been the source of the reflection Arthur had been seeing, and the man's straw-colored hair had grown long and wild around him like it too was trying to become one with the tree.

Arthur had a strong inclination that this was fairy mischief. It would explain the state of the tree; that iron armor would be more than most fae could handle, and fighting against its natural power could be the reason the tree appeared to be sick. He knew of fae who lured humans into their domains and used their energy to nourish the trees in which they liked to dwell. It seemed these fairies had bitten off a bit more than they could chew with this one, and the space felt mostly abandoned by them. But Arthur figured safe was better than sorry. He scooped up a handful of mud and used it to paint abjurative sigils on the backs of his hands. Then he took out his lunch: a chunk of hard cheese, some bread, and some cured meats.

"Kind ones, I would like to take this man away from here. But I do not presume to offer you nothing in return. Please accept this offering as payment for the ironclad man."

He set the food inside of the tree, then he began trying to pull the man out. He didn't make a lot of progress. The roots were holding fast and were wound in tight, tangled formations. After several minutes of pulling this way and tugging that way, Arthur was left to ponder other options. He had no ax to cut the man free, and even if he had, he wouldn't dare bring harm to a fairy dwelling, knowing the retribution would be swift and severe. The roots were too stiff and strong for him to bend or move. But, he noticed, most of those roots were wrapped around the plates of the armor. Perhaps he could free the man from his gear and slide him out that way. He began fiddling with the clasps that held all the pieces together, cursing softly as he struggled. First, the pauldrons on his shoulders. Then the gauntlets, the greaves, and the breastplate. Clasp by clasp, strap by strap, and buckle by buckle, he freed the stranger. When the last of it was undone, Arthur grabbed him by his ankles and pulled. And gradually, the limp figure slid out of the armor and out into the sunlight.

The dappled light kissed the stranger's face, and his eyes shot open. Arthur watched as blue eyes gazed up at the sky of the same color and waited for some reaction. He got none. The man laid utterly still but for the slow rise and fall of his chest. Arthur crouched beside his face and gently tapped the man's cheek with his hand.

"Hello? Are you all alright? Can you hear me?"

Still, no reply. Arthur frowned and leaned in closer, removing the man's glasses and pulling his eyelids further open to get a good look at his eye. He picked up the man's wrist and checked his pulse. He sniffed the man's breath. Then he cursed again.

"Fairy stroke. Of course you have fairy stroke. I don't know what else I expected, honestly." Arthur spoke to the stranger, despite knowing now that the man could neither hear nor understand him. "Well, I'm sure I can fix that, but it does make getting you back home a real ordeal for me. And I was having such a nice day too... well, nothing else to be done. Come on."

Arthur tucked the man's glasses into his basket and stood up, grabbing the man by the wrists and tugging him upward. Like an obedient child, the man sat upright and eventually rose to stand. He was a tall lad, Arthur noticed, placing a hand in the small of his back and applying a light pressure to propel him forward. With Arthur's guidance, the man walked, eyes never blinking or finding focus.

"I'll have to ask you who you are when you get your mind back," Arthur said, speaking to his absent companion. "If you get your mind back, that is. Depending on how long you were in the sylvan world, there's a possibility you'll live the rest of your life as a vegetable. But if you do come back to yourself, I'd like to know about that armor of yours. Knights aren't a common sight around these parts. That's because the nearest kingdom with any sort of military power is several days away, even if you've got a fast horse. How on earth did you end up at the center of a fairy tree?"

The man beside him said nothing, of course.

"I hope you like cats."

The walk back went slowly. If Arthur tried to push his zombie-like compatriot along too quickly, the lad would lose his footing and fall forward. Then Arthur would have to haul him to his feet all over again. Arthur had never been the most patient person, so by the time they reached the cottage, he was feeling quite put out. They shuffled through the door and were greeted by the judgmental green eyes of Arthur's cat. The feline stared at them from the tabletop and seemed to be asking just what Arthur had gotten himself into this time.

"Oh hush, you," Arthur snapped as if the cat had actually spoken. "It's a long story."

Arthur ushered the man to his bedroom and sat him down on the bed. He removed the man's boots quickly as possible and laid him down in his bed, where the stranger did nothing but stare at the ceiling.

"Alright," Arthur said, heaving out a sigh from deep in his chest. "That's done, at least. I'll get started on that fairy stroke cure. You just... stay here." He walked into his main room with purpose, deciding to whip this out as quick as possible so he could get the answers he wanted from the stranger and send him on his way.

The cure for fairy stroke wasn't all that complex but required a lot of concentration, and a delivery method that even someone without possession of their mind could imbibe easily. Arthur set about gathering his spell components. He needed rosemary, for presence of mind, pickled lemon slices, for strength of body, moon water, for healing, and a dried, black striped mushroom, to banish any remnant of fairy magic. Setting a pot of water on the stove to boil, Arthur crushed the rosemary with the moon water to make a thick, aromatic paste. With every movement of the mortar and pestle, he meditated on his intent, bringing energy into his body.

_"In darkest night and brightest day, we are neighbors with the fae," he chanted softly. "When in their lands, we deign to stay, they come and steal our hearts away."_

Arthur fished a slice of potent pickled lemon from a jar and began to slice it into small cubes. Then he sliced the dried mushroom into paper-thin slivers.

_"Though it is good that neighbors share, we ask return of what's not theirs."_

The water on the stove reached a rolling boil. Arthur added flour into it and stirred until he had a thin, flavorless gruel. This was the delivery method, and it had little to do with the actual spell. Arthur spooned the gruel into a bowl and set it on his table. Then, one by one, in went his spell components. He began to mix vigorously, punctuating each revolution of the bowl with a word.

_"And so with every single turn, I bid the soul a safe return. Calling out for what we lack, it is time the mind comes back."_

His spoon fell still, and Arthur released all the energy he had built up into the dubious-looking lumpy green slop. And with that, the spell was complete. His cat sniffed the mixture with interest but quickly turned his nose away from it. If a cat could look disgusted, this one certainly did.

"You're just overly critical," he said to it, bringing the bowl to the bedroom. "It doesn't have to look pretty, it just needs to work. Now, why don't you go chase field mice or something?"

The magic gruel was fed to the stranger. Arthur simply pulled him into a seated position and spooned it into his mouth. He tilted the man's head back to initiate swallowing, after which the man did automatically. In minutes, the bowl was empty. The stranger was laid down again, Arthur washed up the dish and cleaned up after his spell, and then began making that infusion of chamomile he had gone out for in the first place. All that was left to do now was wait.


	3. In the Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred's mind returns mostly intact and he and Arthur begin negotiating the future.

Alfred came back to himself slowly as if stirring from a dream he only half-remembered. He could vaguely recall getting to where he was now, but it was a hazy memory, more based on touch and taste than anything else. The most potent of these foggy recollections was the sensation of a hand on his back and the taste of something herbal. He blinked up at the ceiling, watching sheer curtains dance in an orange half-light tip-toeing in through a partially open window, and as he did so, he became aware that his eyes had been dry and itchy. He rubbed at them with his left hand, pushing his glasses up to his forehead and wondering why that hand. It seemed so arbitrary, but using his left hand just felt odd, especially when he flexed his right arm slowly and found it to feel so much more natural. He put his hands up in front of his face and, starting with the thumb of his left hand, repeatedly open and closed his fingers in order. They both moved smoothly and freely. Had he expected them not to?

He sat up. The bed beneath him creaked quietly as he moved to support himself with his arms. Arms covered from wrist to shoulder in heavily rusted chainmail. The mail continued down his chest, partially hidden by a tunic that may have once been dyed some bright color but was now a threadbare and worn beige. His leggings were a muddy gray, and he was barefoot. He set his feet on the floor and almost immediately drew them up again. The stone was cold, especially in comparison to the warm air that had made the room quite comfortable. He waited a moment, then set his feet down again, letting them acclimate to the chill before standing.

Exiting the bedroom, Alfred quickly learned that there was only one other room in the house. With a glance, he had seen just about all of it; a stove containing a crackling fire, a kettle sitting on top of said stove, counters and cupboards, a wood table and matching chairs, a deck of cards, bookshelves, bottles containing countless unknown substances, and bundles of sweet-smelling plant material hanging from the ceiling. Through the windows, he could see the same orange light that had been his companion in that unfamiliar bed. It cast the treeline in silhouette. Alfred stepped around the table to get a better view of the outside and almost tread on a cat he had failed to notice on his initial sweep of the room. Without a sound, it darted through his legs. The unexpected motion caused Alfred to misstep, and he grabbed the table's sides to stop himself from tumbling into it, causing the stack of cards to upset and flutter to the floor in a flurry of color.

Though the house was clearly lived in, Alfred had seen no other person since waking up (if he had been sleeping, which he wasn't sure of). Regardless, it felt wrong to leave someone's belongings scattered about on the floor, so he knelt down and began gathering up the fallen cards. He was immediately struck by the colorful artwork that adorned each card. There were swords and sticks, cups, and coins, all rendered in beautiful vivid colors. As he stacked the cards, he examined each image, marveling at the detail on each one. One, in particular, caught his eye. It depicted a child with golden hair riding on the back of a white horse, set against a backdrop of yellow flowers. Above the child, a smiling sun obscured most of the sky. The neat lettering beneath the card labeled it simply as **The Sun**. He couldn't explain why this card, in particular, gave him pause. Perhaps it was the carefree expression of the child or the deep red of the banner it carried. The child smiled up at him from its mount, and Alfred found himself smiling back. Then, recalling his task, Alfred added it back into the stack and finished retrieving the rest of the cards. He stood up and set the cards back in their place. Looking around, Alfred saw the cat staring at him, now situated safely away from his clumsy feet, sitting primly on top of a counter. Its gaze seemed reproachful.

“Don't look at me like that,” Alfred said, speaking to the animal as though it was the most natural thing in the world. The hoarseness of his voice was a surprise to him. It sounded like the voice of an old man. He cleared his throat and continued. “I didn't mean to knock them over. And I picked them up.” The cat remained unimpressed. It stared at him a moment longer, then hopped down and brushed past him aloofly, trotting along until it slipped out of the partially open front door. It felt like he had just been brushed off! Thoughtlessly, Alfred moved to follow the feline. He pushed the door open wider and very nearly knocked it into the person who was coming back inside. His face cleared up one of Alfred's foggy memories, and he recognized the person as the man who had brought him here.

“Can you understand what I am saying?" the man asked out of the blue, in place of a greeting.

“Um... Yeeeeeees?" Alfred replied though the way he elongated the vowel implied more of a question than a response.

“Good," said the man, pushing past Alfred into the house and setting a stick of charcoal on the tabletop. "I'm glad to see your time in the tree hasn't robbed you off your faculties. You can never be sure with fairies."

Alfred turned in place, watching the man brush coal-blackened hands on the inside of his cloak, then move over to the stove to warm himself near the fire. Apparently seeing the confusion on Alfred's face, the man spoke again.

“My name is Arthur. I found you out in the woods with a tree growing around you. I pulled you out, but you were dazed, so I brought you here, to my home, and gave you something to hopefully release you from any leftover magic.”

“I was in a tree?” It seemed like as good of a place to start as any.

“Yes. A fairy tree.”

“What's a-”

“It's much too long and complicated to explain fully,” Arthur cut him off with a wave of his hand. “In simple terms, you were, at some point, snared by the fairies of the forest. They tried to harvest your energy with the tree I found you in. When I pulled you out and fed you a cleansing spell, their hold on you broke. And you seem to have escaped more or less unharmed.” The way Arthur spoke was definitive and proper, leaving no room for questions. It was all very no-nonsense. But the problem was that his explanation created many questions in Alfred. It was all so much to take in, and Alfred fought with himself about where to even begin. Once again, Arthur seemed to pick up on Alfred's turmoil and stepped in to get things moving.

“What's your name?”

“Uh, Alfred.” That was a simple enough question to answer.

“Alright. Nice to meet you, Alfred. Welcome back to the mortal world." Arthur turned his back on Alfred and used a tea towel to lift the boiling kettle off of the heat. He retrieved a clay cup from a cabinet and busied himself with some of the unidentified bottles, sprinkling some of their contents into the cup before closing them once more and filling the cup with the hot water. "How did you come to be in that tree?"

“I have no idea,” Alfred replied honestly, shifting his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. The evening breeze blowing in through the open door was making his bare feet even colder than they had been. Arthur looked over his shoulder at Alfred.

“That's not all that surprising. Don't just stand there. Sit. You seem relatively young. What are you, sixteen? Seventeen?”

“Nineteen,” Alfred corrected, once again speaking honestly without even thinking about it.

“Nineteen," Arthur amended, looking back at his cup while Alfred pulled a chair out from the table and perched himself on its edge. "As I said, young. Young and bold and maybe a little stupid. People like you are the type who find themselves unknowingly wandering into fairy circles. My guess is that you were out for a stroll, and you put your foot down in the wrong spot, and then suddenly, you were in a tree."

“I don't know,” Alfred reiterated again, watching the back of his host intently. Arthur moved on.

“Well, whatever happened, your armor saved you. Fairies and iron don't mix well. It hinders the flow of their magic, so you weren't consumed by the tree. It also made it so I was able to slide you out without having to damage the plant.” Arthur turned around, the clay cup now cradled in his hands. He blew on it gently, and the stream of steam coming off of it spiraled into the air like a translucent white ribbon.

“I was wearing armor before?” Alfred asked, looking down at himself.

“You were,” Arthur confirmed matter-of-factly, though a sizable eyebrow quirked up, as though he couldn't see why Alfred should be confused about that little detail. “That was actually something I wanted to ask you about. Are you from the kingdom? No one around here wears armor. There isn't anywhere to get any, so you'd have to be, I thought. But it was all so rusted and dirty that it was impossible to tell if there were distinguishing markings, so I couldn't be entirely certain you weren't some farmer's son who just happened to find some old armor in the ruins and decided to try it on.”

Alfred's mouth hung slightly open as he looked at Arthur with a blank expression. Unlike before, no answers he knew to be true came to him.

“A simple yes or no will suffice,” Arthur prompted, “Are you from the kingdom? The one up south.”

“I... don't know," Alfred answered him haltingly, coming to the realization as he said it.

Arthur paused in raising the cup to his lips and lowered it slowly, frowning at Alfred.

“When you say you don't know, do you mean you don't know where you're from?”

“I guess so.”

“Do you not know,” Arthur questioned, one finger lightly tapping the cup, “because you don't know where you were born? Or perhaps because you travel and don't have a specific place to call home? Traveling merchants come around this way occasionally. Perhaps you're part of a caravan?” Alfred just looked at him silently, not having an answer for him. Arthur waited. The silence was tense. 

“Do you have any family I could contact to get you home?” Arthur asked him, ending the period of quiet. Alfred thought about the question and, like the one before it, came up empty.

“I don't know,” he concluded. Arthur's frown deepened. Alfred didn't see what it was that he was saying that vexed the man so. 

“What is your family name, Alfred?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you have parents? What are their names?”

“I don't know.”

“Siblings?”

Alfred shrugged and grimaced, implying that, once again, he did not know. Arthur's lips pursed and his brow knit. Alfred understood that not knowing all of these things that he definitely should know should have been upsetting in some way. Still, he was utterly and inexplicably calm and fascinated by how much like a caterpillar Arthur's eyebrows appeared when scrunched together like that. Arthur moved away from the counter and set the cup of tea down in front of Alfred, then began making a fresh one for himself.

“Alfred, what is the very last thing that you can remember?”

Alfred looked down into the cup of murky liquid, watching the tea leaves floating idly as he pondered the question.

“I think," he said slowly, wrapping his hands around the cup and feeling the warmth of it, "It's your face. From before you brought me here." He heard Arthur heave a belabored sigh and watched as the older man sat down across from him with his own cup of tea.

“I see.” He said, voice tense and clipped, as though this was a terribly troublesome thing that he was resigning himself to bearing. “Perhaps I was a bit quick to judge before. Depending on just how long you were trapped in the sylvan world, I should have expected at least some level of … inconvenience.” Arthur sipped from his cup slowly. Not knowing what else to do, Alfred mirrored him. He made a face as the hot, bitter liquid filled his mouth. Swallowing reluctantly, he set the cup down and was not terribly inclined to pick it up again. “Though you are not a vegetable, you are not entirely whole, either. There isn't much I can do about that, I'm afraid.”

“Did fairies steal my memories?” Alfred asked him, feeling slightly ridiculous in voicing it but finding that Arthur treated it like a perfectly valid question.

“No. They didn't steal your memory, at least, I don't think so. If they did, they most likely would have stolen your name as well, but you remember that for some reason, so I doubt that that is the case. No, more likely, this is a side effect of the time you spent asleep in that tree. The mind isn't meant to be idle for so long. There is probably some damage.”

“Will I get my memories back?” 

“I can't say," Arthur admitted from behind his cup, obviously enjoying the bitter tea far more than Alfred had. "The only way to see is to give it time. If you're lucky, they'll start coming back to you, though I'm guessing if you were trapped for an extended period, it might take a while."

Alfred nodded, doing his best to make sense of the bizarre situation. He had come to his senses in a place he did not know, with a man he had just met, with only his name and age to go off of. A lump lodged itself in his throat as he realized that he was entirely alone. He was lost. What would he do? Where would he go? He didn't think he had any money. Did he have a family? Were they looking for him? He was less upset about not knowing himself than he was about the possibility that maybe no one out there knew him either. Another heavy sigh from Arthur drew him out of his spiraling thoughts. Alfred looked up and the man across from him.

“I gave you a spell...” he muttered. “I don't give away spells for free. But without you knowing anything, there isn't any way to be reimbursed for my craft. There's nothing else for it, then.” Seeming to have come to a decision, Arthur met Alfred's gaze. “You'll just have to stay here until someone comes for you, or until your memory returns.”

“Wait, you'll let me stay here? In your house?" Alfred asked incredulously.

“Don't misunderstand me. This isn't charity." Arthur looked at him, green eyes flashing with an intensity that made Alfred's breath catch in his chest. "You can work to earn your keep. The moment we know who you are, you're leaving. I prefer to be alone. But I refuse to do something for nothing. To keep the scales balanced, you'll perform basic tasks for me until the debt is settled. Do we have an understanding?"

And Alfred nodded. Some of the tightness in Alfred's chest eased, and it was only when it did that he realized just how frightened he had been. Work agreement or not, he had a place to stay and the company of another human being. At least he wasn't starting from nothing.

“Good. Since we are in agreement, let's make it official. Hold out your hand, please.”

Alfred obeyed, though he didn't know what Arthur meant by 'make it official.' He lifted his left hand, paused, then extended his right instead, once again wondering why he was so hesitant to use his clearly dominant right hand. Arthur barely hesitated in grabbing Alfred's hand in his own. He reached out and took up the charcoal he had left on the table. He placed the dull point of it against Alfred's thumb and began dragging it in a spiral motion across both their hands, muttering quietly as he did.

_“Hand in hand we give we take, in this moment contract make, 'til what is needed has been found, we two in convent remain bound.”_

Arthur released Alfred. Alfred stared at Arthur, his hand remaining suspended in the air, now decorated with a black spiral that was only half complete on its own.

“It's purely a formality,” Arthur explained, meeting Alfred's stare with one of his own. “The markings will wash away, but the spell will remain. It's meant to encourage both parties to keep up their end of the bargain.”

“Are you a wizard?” Alfred asked him. Arthur made a face that Alfred couldn't quite identify as any particular emotion and shook his head.

“No. I'm just an herbalist who dabbles in very light forms of magic. Nothing special. Anyone can do it with enough research. Now then, we should get you out of that chainmail. It can't be comfortable, and it's leaving rust residue all over. I shudder to think of the stains it's left on my blanket.” Arthur drained his cup and rose from the table. He moved with purpose toward the bedroom, and Alfred, not feeling comfortable enough yet to be left alone in the main room, followed him.

Arthur threw open the chest at the foot of the bed and dug through its contents while Alfred stood awkwardly near the wall. He watched as Arthur held up some clothing and looked him over, top to bottom, then shook his head and continued to look.

“I don't know if I have anything that will fit you," he said, holding up another outfit before putting it right back. "You're a bit larger than I am, so anything I find for you will be a bit tight. I can make you something with a bit of time, but..." Arthur trailed off. His hands stopped digging. Alfred saw him staring into the chest as though he had seen something he had not expected to see. Arthur seemed conflicted. But almost as soon as the look came across his face, it was gone. From the very bottom of the chest, Arthur retrieved a plain white shirt and a pair of dark green trousers. Both looked to be significantly too large for the man, but would likely be just about the right size on Alfred. Arthur laid the clothes out on the bed and closed the trunk before standing.

“I'll lend you these. Please try not to ruin them. There's a washbasin on the table in the corner, there. Clean yourself up and get dressed. I don't know how sleeping arrangements will go yet, but once you're finished, we can discuss it. I'll leave you alone now.”

Arthur turned promptly on his heel and marched his way out of the room. He was closing the door to give the younger man some privacy when Alfred spluttered out some hurried words.

“A-Arthur, wait! Uh, I just... I don't know what... Um... Thanks for this.”

“I don't need your thanks," was Arthur's curt reply. "You'll work everything off. We'll be equal." Then the door closed, and Alfred was alone.

\--- --- --- --- --- --- 

Arthur heard the door latch and deflated a little. He suddenly felt drained. The day hadn't been particularly eventful outside of Alfred's rescue, but the amount the encounter was set to change in Arthur's life was staggering. He didn't know why he had thought this would be a good idea. The lad seemed good-natured enough, but the two of them were still little more than strangers. Balance or not, Arthur wasn't sure how long he'd be able to handle living with another person in such close quarters. It had been years since he had last roomed with anyone. And even then, it had been an exceptional circumstance. An exception to his rule of isolation and introversion.

With such massive changes on the horizon, Arthur decided that the best idea was to consult the tarot. Whenever he needed insight, his cards were always there. It gave him a look at the bigger picture. Arthur returned to his table and scooped up the deck of cards as he sat down. The deck sat in his hands, comfortable like an old friend. Thumbing through the cards, he located **The Hermit** card and set it aside. Then, he closed his eyes and began to shuffle. He was going to do a simple four-card spread, one designed to break down a situation and the path forward. He just needed to figure out the best way to phrase his question.

“What do I need to know to get to the best outcome in all this?” His voice was quiet, almost less than a whisper. But he knew the cards heard him. 

With a deft hand, Arthur spread the cards out on the table face down. They fanned before him, a gallery of unknown possibility. One by one, he drew the four cards that he felt called to him and set them next to **The Hermit**. The rest of the deck was set to the side, and Arthur arranged his spread. **The Hermit** was placed in the middle of the table. This was the card always sought out to represent himself. The meanings of solitude and personal discovery resonated strongly with him. Next, all around his 'self' card, he laid the four cards he had drawn: one above, one below, and one on either side. Starting on the left and moving counter-clockwise, he began flipping the cards over.

The first card, representing Arthur's current situation, was the **9 of Swords**. The colorful imagery showed a woman sitting up in her bed with her head in her hands, the wall behind her being adorned by nine gleaming swords. He knew this card to carry meanings such as anxiety, regret, and uncertainty. That seemed accurate enough. The current situation had him rattled. Finding out that Alfred remembered nothing of who he was had thrown a major wrench into his plans. Into the very structure of his life. He was justified in feeling anxious and uncertain about everything.

Next came the card directly beneath the 'self' card. It signified what it was that had put him in that situation. He flipped it over and was met with the **Knight of Pentacles** in reverse. An armored knight on a black steed stood out against a backdrop of farmland. In his hands, he held a star encased in a circle. When upright, the card was typically associated with positive meanings: hard work, dedication, drive. But reversed, it could represent boredom, monotony, inflexibility, perfectionism, and the feeling of being trapped. The first card had made sense to Arthur, but this one left him feeling confused. How did stubbornness and overwork put him into this situation? What did that have to do with suddenly having another person in his home? Maybe he was trying to read too far into the meaning of this one. Alfred had been wearing armor when he had met him, just like the knight in the card. Maybe it was just trying to tell him that Alfred was the cause of all this. That would track pretty well. Still feeling uncertain, Arthur moved on to the right-hand card. 

What was the best step forward to remedy the situation? He turned over the **5 of Cups** in reverse. The card depicted a man in a long black cloak, standing in a desert and staring at five cups, three of which had been knocked over. This one happened to be almost the exact opposite of his previous card. While the **Knight of Pentacles** was positive in upright and negative when reversed, upright the **5 of Cups** represented disappointment and failure. In reverse, it told of healing, forgiveness, and self-love. And once again, Arthur was confused, wondering how on earth forgiving himself was the best way forward. Was he perhaps supposed to forgive Alfred of his debt and set him out into the world? That seemed cruel to do. The boy was young and had nowhere to go. Yes, Arthur wanted what he was owed, but he also wasn't so cruel as to forgive a debt just to get rid of his guest. Shaking his head in bewilderment, Arthur flipped over the last card. A card that would tell him what would help him reach a conclusion.

**The Sun**. Arthur stared down at the child riding a white steed, recalling its meaning of happiness, victory, fun, and positivity. Yet another confusing answer. Arthur wondered if he had done something to offend his cards. If maybe they just weren't listening to him tonight. He couldn't see how being happy would make any of this better. 

Feeling just as confused as before, Arthur shuffled the cards back into the deck and withdrew a journal from one of his shelves. With a pen and ink, he transcribed the reading, including the cards he had drawn, his interpretation, and the feelings associated with the overall spread. Perhaps one day, the reading would make sense, and he would come back to this entry and understand it all. But now, he was in the dark. 

The bedroom door opened, and Alfred stepped out, looking much cleaner and more comfortable now that he had shed the heavy chainmail. The clothes fit him well, almost as if they had been made for him. They hadn't been, said a voice in Arthur's head. Those weren't his clothes. The sooner he got something made for Alfred, the sooner those could go back in the bottom of his chest, and the happier Arthur would be. 

“Well, at least you don't look like I found you in the woods anymore,” Arthur concluded, pushing away from the table. 

“Yeah,” Alfred agreed. “I left my old clothes on the floor in the room. What should I do with them?”

“Give them to me,” Arthur said, “I recycle everything. I'm sure I can find a use for them, even if it is just as scrap. Now, as for the sleeping situation-”

“I don't wanna take your bed,” Alfred inserted quickly. “I'll just sleep on the floor.” Arthur frowned, something he was doing a lot today, it seemed.

“No, I'd rather you didn't. It isn't hospitable to let someone I invited in sleep on the floor.”

“But it's your house. I'm not letting you sleep on the floor. Maybe we could-”

“I am not sharing a bed," Arthur said vehemently. Then, seeing the surprise on Alfred's face at just how harshly he had spoken those words, Arthur clarified. "We do not know each other. I am not comfortable with close contact. I hope you understand."

“I do,” Alfred said, “But taking your bed from you would feel weird. We could both sleep on the floor.” Alfred posited uncertainly.

“And what would be the point of that? There is a perfectly good bed to use.” Arthur watched as Alfred rolled his eyes, seeming to grow frustrated with the argument. Now that the boy was getting a better grasp of his surroundings, his personality was becoming more evident. And Arthur wasn't sure he liked it yet.

“Arthur, for the love of God, I really don't care about hospitality or any of that. You said before that you aren't letting me stay out of charity. So don't treat me like a charity case! I'll take the floor. With some blankets and a pillow, I'll be perfectly fine. Besides,” and Alfred's face broke into the cheekiest grin Arthur had ever seen, “if you work me too hard, I'll roll under your bed while you sleep and then grab your ankle when you try to get out of bed.”

Arthur's eyes narrowed. “I'd like to see you try that. I have no qualms with kicking you right in the teeth should that occur.”

“We'll just have to see, then," Alfred said. "So. I'll take the floor. You keep your bed. We give each other distance, and everything will be great."

“I suppose I can agree to that,” Arthur said reluctantly.

“Super!” Alfred seemed way too happy to be getting his way, Arthur thought. He really had to rescue the most annoying of people. 

Hopefully, his memory returned quickly.


	4. interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We take a moment away from all that has happened and get a look into Alfred's dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!! Please note that this chapter contains minor animal death. It is in the context of hunting and it is NOT graphically described in any way. However, I know that this may cause some people distress. If you are concerned about this, please skip to the end of the chapter, where I will provide a summary of everything that happened so that you can stay caught up without being exposed to something potentially triggering. Thank you! --Neckbows

_He stood at the edge of a lake, looking down at the toes of his boots as the water lapped gently at the stony shoreline. In his hand, he held a rock. It was a smooth, flat rock, slightly bigger than his palm. There were similar rocks in a small pile beside him. He had spent half an hour walking the bank, searching for these perfect stones._

_The water before him was totally still, and its mirror-like surface reflected the sky and the trees in reverse. It was like stepping into the water would take him to another world, one just like his own but different somehow. A light breeze tousled his short, neatly parted hair, and he smiled. It felt nice. Being here just felt nice. He usually didn't like the quiet, but the chirping of birds, the lapping of the water, and the rustle of the leaves made everything feel so alive._

_He raised his arm to waist height and positioned his stone in his hand. He crouched slightly. The movement caused a haze of afterimages. Someone was calling his name from a distance. Was this real? No. It wasn't. He realized that none of this was really happening. But that was okay. What was real at this moment didn't really matter. He took a breath, pulled his arm back, then swung it forward, spinning the rock toward the water. The rock struck the surface with a splash, then bounced up and hit again. It skipped across the water six times before vanishing below the surface, disturbing the perfect reflection._

_He reached for another rock. He heard his name being called again, but closer this time. He didn't exactly ignore it, but he didn't stop what he was doing to go looking for it either. He knew that everything was fine. He spun another rock out onto the lake. Nine skips this time! He was content._

_As he was reaching for a third stone, a set of boots stepped into his line of sight. He looked up. The person was dressed very like him, but there seemed to be clouds around his face because he couldn't immediately make it out. That was the first thing in this dream—that's what this was, he had decided—that upset him slightly. He wanted to see that face. It was important to him. He knew who it was, but he wanted to see. And, as he willed it, the clouds parted and revealed the features of his companion._

_"Hey, Mattie," he greeted, smiling up at his twin brother with the most care-free of smiles. "You've gotta watch this. I bet I can break fifteen with this next one."_

_"Al, I was calling for you," said Matthew, sounding slightly reproachful, "Didn't you hear me?"_

_"Yep." Alfred straightened, brushing some dirt off of his rock._

_"Why didn't you come, then? Or call back to me?"_

_"I was busy." Alfred threw the rock. Only eight this time. He picked up another._

_"This does not count as busy, Alfred." Matthew rolled his eyes, grabbing Alfred by the wrist to stop him from throwing again._

_"Oh come on, it's busy enough. What are you in such a hurry about? Is there a problem?"_

_"No, it's not that. I just need a hand, and since we came out here together, I sort of expected that I could rely on you."_

_"Oh, don't be like that. This is supposed to be fun, Mattie." Alfred freed his arm from his brother, then took Matthew's arm, turned it over and set the rock in his hand. "But I'll tell you what. If you can beat my best count of skips, I'll come help you. If you can't, I get to stay here and finish off my pile without any more complaints." Matthew looked at him with an exhausted expression, but there was amusement in there too, Alfred knew. They were brothers, closer than the layers on a cake, and they could always tell what the other was thinking._

_"If I say no, you're just going to keep ignoring me, aren't you?"_

_"I wasn't ignoring you, Matthew," Alfred corrected, lightly bumping his twin with his shoulder. "But yes." His reply made Matthew roll his eyes._

_"Fine," Matthew relented, "I'll do it. How many have you managed to get?"_

_"Ten," Alfred lied._

_"Alright." Matthew dropped into the same stance Alfred had been using: knees bent, arm back, hand perpendicular to the ground. Alfred observed how the afterimage on his brother seemed so much stronger than the ones that followed his own movements. Then Matthew swung. The rock spun. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve skips. Alfred looked at where the stone vanished and couldn't help but feel slightly cheated._

_"How'd you do that?"_

_"Do what? I did it the same as you."_

_"No, you had to have done something different," Alfred insisted. Matthew's slight smile was so incredibly annoying. To wipe that grin off of his twin's face, Alfred lunged at him, hooking an arm around his neck, and put him into a headlock._

_"Ack! Alfred! You're going to knock my glasses off!" Matthew complained, struggling in Alfred's grasp and failing to get free._

_"I'm gonna do more than that! How'd you like to go for a swim?"_

_"Alfred, no! You're such an asshole sometimes!"_

_"Can't hear you over the sound of you getting dragged into the lake!" Alfred was laughing now._

_"If I get wet, you're making dinner all by yourself," Matthew threatened._

_"Aww, fine." And Alfred let him go. Matthew rubbed his neck gingerly and glared at Alfred for a moment. But his expression quickly cleared up, back into the amiable smile he usually wore._

_"Come on. We got a catch, but I still want to reset the trap so we can maybe have something to bring home."_

_"Got it!" Alfred threw one last stone as quickly as he could and watched, unsatisfied, as it plopped into the lake after only two little hops. Then he abandoned his pile of rocks and followed his brother through the treeline._

_They reached a part of the woods where the underbrush grew thick and dense, and the canopy above cast dappled green lights dancing across the forest floor. In front of them, a line of tamped down undergrowth indicated a path that small animals often took. The two of them had set up a snare trap here a few hours before. There was a large hare caught in it now, its foot bound in the thin but strong twine they had used to create the trap. It was a good catch. Working as a team, Matthew released the animal while Alfred held it to prevent its escape. Matthew used the twine to tie the creature's limbs, then took out a fresh length of the stuff to restring the snare. Alfred watched as Matthew carefully looped the cord and tied a sliding knot at the end. He hung the loop from a tree branch they had laid across the path when they had set it up, then blocked off the track on either side of the loop so that any passing creature would have to jump right through the snare. It was a simple trap but remarkably effective and quick to create._

_The brothers brought their catch back to their campsite. They killed and dressed the meat and then set the whole thing to roast over their campfire. When the meat was nicely brown, and the fat was dripping off and making the fire sizzle and jump, they cut it up and dug in. Both of them enjoyed their meal immensely. Above them, the sun set until they were sitting in the gray half-light that always announced the onset of night, illuminated by their dancing fire. It was a tranquil scene, one that Alfred wished would go on forever._

_"This will be the last time we're able to do this, won't it?" Matthew spoke, his quiet voice almost lost behind the heedless crackling of the logs. Alfred felt something stir inside his gut. Unease? Anxiety? Anger, maybe? He threw one of the rabbit bones into the fire._

_"It won't be the last time, Matt," he insisted. "It might be a while, but it won't be the last time."_

_"We don't know how long the war is going to last," Matthew pointed out. "Even if neither of us has to fight-"_

_"It won't be the last time," Alfred repeated, lightly kicking his brother's boot. "Wars end. This isn't even a big war. It's just an overblown land dispute. It will end. And when it does, we'll be free to come out here again. We can probably even do it before it ends. I know you know all the secret ways out of the city."_

_That got Matthew to smile slightly, and he nodded. "It won't be safe to come out here while there's fighting."_

_"It's not like the fighting is even going to reach this far. It's just along the border."_

_"I hope you're right." Matthew wiped his greasy hands off on his rough woven trousers._

_"I always am," Alfred asserted confidently._

_And with that, all talk of war was put to the side. As the fire began to die out, Alfred and Matthew sat together in the trees and sung cheerful folk songs to drive all the anxiety from their souls. And Alfred's vision of the moment began to twist and fade, as even before the fire was gone, blackness surrounded him, and he was left with only the final chords of his and Matthew's song._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger-free summary: Alfred is dreaming about standing on a lake and skipping stones. He hears someone calling for him. It turns out it is his twin brother, Matthew, who has been looking for Alfred because he needs help with the trap the both of them set up. Alfred is having fun skipping stones and challenges his brother to see if he can skip a stone farther. Matthew succeeds. The two of them rough house for a bit, then go and deal with the trap. While eating dinner, Matthew brings up that he is sad about how an imminent war will prevent them from camping together again for a very long time. Alfred reassures him that everything will be fine, and the two of them sing songs to pass the time. Alfred's dream then ends.


End file.
